


An Armored Shell

by jcrowquill



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone love, M/M, Mutual Pining, a+ cuddling, character exploration, clone headcanons, clone psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcrowquill/pseuds/jcrowquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Fives had been boots-over-blaster for another clone in the 501st since they'd been the greenest rookies in the Domino Squad.  Some nights, he wanted nothing more than to climb into his bunk after being jolted awake by a nightmare, but he stayed still and took deep, silent breaths to calm himself.  He always thought of kissing him once he'd had a bit to drink, but instead he poured his energy into flirting with the pretty Twi’lek bartenders.  Sometimes he wanted to tell him that the slight gold highlight that ringed the inner rim of his irises made them the most kriffing gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, but he always kept his mouth shut.  It hardly seemed worth ruining the best friendship he had if it didn't work out.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Armored Shell

There hadn't been much study on clone psychology; for one thing, the revelation of their existence was still reasonably new, and for another, _no one really cared._  

There were a lot of things that outsiders, even the more sensitive Jedi, didn't think about much.  For example, that the seemingly identical men could tell each other apart based on the most minute differences in height, weight, vocal inflection or style of movement; they noticed how their personalities shaped their features and where repeated expressions left smile lines or furrowed brows.  Most others forgot that until they'd been formally given to the Jedi, the majority of clones had only ever known each other and their Kaminoan creators firsthand; as a result, other humans, especially females, seemed as different as an alien race.  This had subtly turned into an almost cultural belief that the clones were simply something else, a species of four million subtly unique specimens.

The Kaminoans taught them to call each other “brother” because they'd thought it the most fitting word based on their shared genetics.  The way that the clones used the word however was more akin to how their masters used the word “Jedi,” as a term that indicated a kinship based on a shared culture without reference to species or lineage.

Different clones acclimated to the rest of the galaxy in different ways, but most remained most comfortable in the presence of their own; the scope of the real world beyond informative holocrons was engrossing but sometimes overwhelming.  Though he never said so, Cody was endlessly fascinated by Obi-wan’s ginger hair and secretly disturbed by Plo Koon’s mouth beneath his breathing apparatus.

Some clones readily dove into the outside world, absorbing and interacting as much as they possibly could; some developed attractions to outsiders and built superficial relationships, while others preferred to keep their bonds restricted within their own close community.

There were dangers involved in both - outsiders rarely understood clones, either in their individuality or as part of a whole.  Relationships with other clones, especially those within the same units, were sometimes too close to risk over a simple attraction.

Fives had been boots-over-blaster for another clone in the 501st since they'd been the greenest rookies in the Domino Squad.  Some nights, he wanted nothing more than to climb into his bunk after being jolted awake by a nightmare, but he stayed still and took deep, silent breaths to calm himself.  He always thought of kissing him once he'd had a bit to drink, but instead he poured his energy into flirting with the pretty Twi’lek bartenders.  Sometimes he wanted to tell him that the slight gold highlight that ringed the inner rim of his irises made them the most kriffing gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, but he always kept his mouth shut.  It hardly seemed worth ruining the best friendship he had if it didn't work out.

He imagined what he’d say, though.  He thought about it all the time. _Echo, com’mon and let’s just be us for a quick minute.  Com’mere, lean over so I can reach you._

He reckoned that everybody had somebody, or at least everybody _wanted_ somebody.  Sometimes he got terribly jealous wondering who Echo thought about at night.  But Fives kept his thoughts to himself and congratulated himself on doing a pretty good job at it.  Meantime, Echo was the probably the only one to miss his overcompensation and quick, stolen glances.

They were always near each other, though. In battle they tended to keep each other in line of vision.  It was probably a holdover from their cadet training and their lingering closeness from their time on the Domino Squad, but they preferred to stay near and cover each others' backs.  

For injuries not serious enough to need a medic, they tended to patch each other up; Echo, who was always talking, would recount his thoughts on their battles and ways that they could improve strategically for the next.  Fives, who tended to be a bit overprotective with just about all of them, would fuss over him and take any excuse to touch him for a moment longer as he wrapped gauze or applied a bandage.  Fortunately, the other clone never seemed to mind.  If anything, he subtly soaked up the attention; they were all starved for affection, though they didn’t really even know it.

Fives liked when Echo would lean against him on the transport, the thin shells of their shoulder bells clicking together quietly.  He liked when the edges of their armored thighs touched when they sat next to each other, though he felt every micrometer of the plastoid-alloy between them.  

 When they would strip down to their underarmor to sleep, Fives would always subtly look him over and compare the differences between their bodies.  To his eye, Echo was skinny, though he was likely only a kilo or two lighter than he was.  It was nothing that was noticeable once they were armored, though he could still unerringly pick Echo out from anyone simply based on the way that he moved.

On one particular night, he looked a little too long and the object of his affection caught his eye, eyebrows raised.  

“What?  Do I have a mynock sucking on my shoulder or something?”

Echo’s amused expression shot a bolt of adrenaline to the other clone’s belly and brought an unaccustomed flush of color to his cheeks.  He grinned self-consciously, then looked away.

“Nah, it’s nothing, vod,” he said, shaking his head, “Just… spaced out for a moment.”

He settled into his bunk and tucked himself up against the edge of the mattress closest to the wall, as he always did.  His thoughts remained with his friend, though, particularly his slim ribs and the way his bare, lightly scarred hands looked without his gloves.  He licked his lips, trying to think of more appropriate things like droid schematics or morning chore lists.  When had he last really polished his boots?  He tried to focus on those sorts of mundane things, knowing that he _really_ shouldn’t have been thinking about what his hands would look like on Echo’s skin, or what kinds of sounds he could pull from his sharp, facile mouth, or what he would feel like under him.

 And yet, he couldn’t turn his thoughts away from wondering what it would be like to kiss him or to sleep beside him with the slimmer clone fitted up against his front.  He’d had his share of exploratory tumbles with other clones, groping and grinding in the bunks or showers when they’d caught a moment alone.  He’d woken with his head tucked under someone else’s chin after a celebratory night at a cantina, but it had never meant anything nor had it ever put anything at risk.  It had just been fun, stress relief and a way to deal with some of the ever-present tension of war.  Caring for Echo as he did, wanting him as he did, seemed deep and dangerous, something that could unbalance his whole life.

 “Well, good night,” Echo said, breaking into his thoughts, “Early patrol tomorrow.”

 He licked his lips, then nodded quickly, “Yeah, yeah - I didn’t forget.  Sleep well.”

He shut his eyes and tried to clear his head, but he couldn’t sleep.  He was caught between his optimistic fantasies and his guilt over imagining them; it was the first time that he’d really realized the full extent of his infatuation and how distracting it was, and how thoroughly he wanted his friend. He was pretty sure that he had never wanted anything so much in his life.  Somewhere along the way, Echo had become more important to him than his duty as a soldier and his allegiance to the Republic and the Jedi.

_That’s not acceptable.  That’s not at all okay.  I need to stop._

He barely slept that night and rose weary and slightly irritable in the morning.  He was resolved to let go and put these ridiculous thoughts out of his mind.  He would train harder in penance and he would devote more of his attention to his other brothers; he would make them all as important and try to put a little bit of distance between himself and his fellow Domino.  One phrase that he’d heard third-hand from Master Yoda was “If everything important is, then nothing can be.”

 

\---

 

Echo was curled up on his side, eyes closed and imagining the other man asleep on the bunk opposite him.  He sometimes watched him in the dark as he slept and he knew exactly what he looked like, exactly how he kept his fist tucked under his chin and one knee drawn up half-way.  It was a comfort sometimes knowing that Fives was a creature of habit and a constant in his life.

Though he talked a great deal and could tell anyone what he should be doing at any given moment, he didn’t have words to describe how he felt about Fives.  Nor did he know what he should do, or how he should move forward.  He couldn’t disrupt the tidy routines that gave him sense of normalcy no matter where they were, or risk what he felt like would be inevitable rejection.

But things seemed different tonight.  The way his friend had been looking at him, his expression so focused and so contemplative, had made him feel as though maybe he had some kind of chance.  Maybe Fives did have some preference for him. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.  His voice seemed to have broken Fives out of whatever trance he’d been in.  Echo cursed his own inability to keep his mouth shut as he tried to sleep and overthought his own words until he was thoroughly frustrated with himself.  He wanted to say that it was fine, that Fives could look at him however he’d like, but there was no way to say that.  Especially twenty minutes after the fact when the other trooper was probably asleep.  What would he say anyway?   _Hey, Fives, I kind of like how you were looking at me before.  Please feel free to do that whenever you’d like._

That was so stupid he almost felt embarrassed for thinking it.

 But maybe tomorrow he could try saying something else, something encouraging.  Maybe he could just stay a bit closer to him and see how he reacted, casually touch his hand or lean a bit closer when he talked to him.  Maybe taking a small chance wouldn’t hurt anything.  Maybe he could feel satisfied with that, and he wouldn't even need more.

The next morning, though, he felt as though things were different yet again.  Fives seemed to be focused on just about everything else and his attention seemed to be more evenly divided between all of the men at their table in the mess.  It felt strange, as though he was just like everyone else, or maybe less.  When Fives looked at him, there was a lack of focus that made him feel as though his friend was looking through him.

The small boost in confidence he’d felt the night before quickly dissipated as the morning progressed and Fives seemed to grow more distant with every exercise and briefing that they completed.  

That night, a four meter segment on the hull of the their ship caved in, destroying several droids, jettisoning four fuel cells, and putting two clones in the infirmary before they could seal off the breach.  The damage wasn’t new, nor was it sabotage; it was simply negligence.  When the ship had taken several bolts’ impact during a skirmish a week ago, the technicians had simply underestimated how much the metal skin of the ship had been weakened.

It unsettled everyone to think how much worse things could have gone; though it was late, they stilled in their course and outfitted a few dozen clones to comb the surface to check for other areas that might require immediate repair.  Both Echo and Fives tiredly made their way across the exterior of the ship with repair equipment and scanners.

After hours of extensive examination, the captain and pilot decided that there was no present danger; however, they were low on fuel and needed to land to make full repairs, so they set a course for the nearest Republic-sympathizing port they could find without jumping to hyperspace.  Rex seemed tired as he explained this to his soldiers, most of whom were still wearing their full armor and life-support.

Echo glanced over at Fives and saw that his shoulders were relaxed and he was standing with one hip jutting out jauntily.  He seemed to be satisfied that they were safe for the night, and knowing Fives he was likely relieved that the captain was dismissing them to sleep.

Smiling slightly behind his mask, Echo slouched just a bit so that their armor touched.

To his surprise, Fives straightened, moving just slightly out of range.  His body language had changed noticeably and he seemed a bit stiff, unsure.  Echo quickly snapped to a strict military posture, his heart beating quickly.

_That was a mistake._

Usually, his friend would have leaned into him, and he didn't understand what was different now.  He chewed his lip again, noticing suddenly that his lower lip actually felt a bit raw.  He had been fussing at it all day.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wondering if he had done something wrong.  Maybe he’d ruined something without even realizing it.

As the exhausted soldiers wound their way back to their barracks, Echo speculated on the damage and the ramifications of the technicians’ carelessness.  He was a bit rattled deep down, as he often was when he realized how disposable the Republic truly considered them, but he didn’t say so.  Instead he talked about how lucky they’d been and how tired he was.

“You should sleep then,” Fives told him, a bit more brusquely than he’d expected.  He sounded as though he was almost irritated, though Echo justified that his friend was just as tired as he was.

 “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he replied uncertainly.  

 Normally, Fives would have made a joke or said something matter-of-fact that would have put him at ease.  The quietly gruff tone of his voice felt almost hostile by comparison.

 “Night,” he sad.

 It wasn’t that he was skittish or self-conscious normally, but Echo knew that there was a lot riding on this friendship.  In any other situation, he would have directly asked his friend what his problem was; however, without a clear plan or even a cleanly defined goal, he found himself just shrugging out of his armor heading to bed without another word.

 The next morning, things were about the same - displaced and vaguely awkward.  He made a point of talking to others in their squad and giving Fives some time.  Maybe he just needed some space, and then things would normalize.  He was pretty sure that he could treat him like any other clone, at least for awhile.  He could do that; he could avoid leaning against him or touching him or talking too much to him.  

 So he talked too much to Kix instead and didn’t touch much of anyone.  He acted as normal as he could, nagged when necessary, and rolled his eyes at the stupid things that went on in the mess.  

Back on the ground, the clones were given a bit of freedom to wander and see the city.  Where the two Dominos would have normally paired off and explored on their own, Fives charting the course and Echo keeping him from getting his head shot off, they instead stayed with a handful of their friends.  Within a few days of being just a part of the group, Echo started to think that this was just the way that things were going to be.  He remained confused, but he tried to accept it and move forward in other directions.

 

\--

 

They were back on the campaign within a few days, once captain Rex was satisfied that the ship was sound and their fuel and rations were adequate.  Life resumed with several small skirmishes under General Skywalker’s command.  On the ground, in battle, things felt more normal; Fives remained close to Echo and obviously vigilant enough for both of them.  Echo was equally protective of his friend as they moved in a concerted, practiced way that had always served them well and kept them safe.  

 They cut down dozens of battle droids while avoiding casualties themselves; they were some the cleanest battles that Five could remember.  It was almost as though everything had gone off perfectly, like it had been an exercise rather than a legitimate skirmish.  Curious and Bookplate from the 212th took some light injuries from blaster fire when they joined up briefly on Dasoor, and Mixer from their own unit broke his leg when he was crushed under some collapsed equipment.

 When they weren’t fighting, Fives felt increasingly distant even as the awkwardness seemed to diminish.  He was fairly miserable, especially when he realized that Echo was no longer pursuing his attention.  He tried to tell himself that it was ideal, but he didn’t feel that way at all.  Echo had never been one to insinuate himself into situations where he felt unwanted, and he when he realized that he was making his best friend feel unwanted he felt vaguely horrified.  

 It also wasn’t helping him cool down his crush the way he’d thought it would.  If anything, he fixated on the absence of the other clone in his life.  When he wasn’t actively missing his close company, his thoughts wandered again to what it would feel like to kiss him, excuses he could make to be close to him, or things he could say to relieve some of this new tension between them.

One thing he’d realized now that Echo had pulled away was how close they’d been before; it made him wonder if Echo had felt something for him as well.  He spent a lot of pointless energy trying to reason through every interaction that they’d ever had while outwardly looking completely calm, cool, and normal.

 _What’s up with you?_ Jesse asked at one point, but Fives shrugged it off with a grin.

He laughed a little too much, too loudly.  He drank at the cantina with everyone else and was brightly social, he carried on superficial conversations with Echo and pretended that things were exactly what he’d wanted them to be.  Unfortunately, this was worse in just about every way.

As they ate breakfast in the mess a few weeks later, Echo sitting diagonal from him and deeply engrossed in a tactical discussion with Overkill and Second, Fives decided that he was going to talk to him as soon as he could catch him alone.  He could apologize for being weird without explaining why, and Echo had known him long enough that he would likely just nod and help him climb back up to normal.  

Unfortunately, time in private was hard to come by when they were in constant deployment. It was one of the drawbacks of being a member of an elite tactical unit, really.  By evening they had received their next assignment.

They were joining up with a portion of the 212th on Thyferra, where there was some talk of Separatist interference with the production and shipment of Bacta.  Blockades and attacks on production centers were old news at this point, and no one felt too concerned about putting this one down.  By now they were all veterans and more than a little bit nonchalant about what sounded like just a routine clean-out of clankers.

Within a few hours they were packed into transports and chatting among themselves. Though he was seated next to Echo as usual, the other clone was leaning forward in his seat to talk with Tup, who was sitting across from him.  Fives frowned behind the safe shield of his helmet, but resolved that today would be the day that he set things to rights; Echo’s laughter was better when it was because of things he’d said, after all.

The hyperspace jump tossed them all back in their seats, but they resumed their amicable banter until they landed.  

Things on the ground weren’t quite what they’d expected; despite Rex’s expert leadership, there were a handful of casualties before they retreated into the cover of the city to await Jedi and clone reinforcements.

“I can’t stand just waiting here while they’re taking the advantage out there!” Five groused as he paced back and forth in their makeshift bunker.  He had some scrapes and bruises, but he was too restless to sit still long enough for Echo to apply a bandage.

“Not much we can do.  Rex’ll tell us when to move,” Echo replied, peering out through a gap in the wall.  

He forced himself to still and cross his arms, though he was restless enough that it felt like there were ants crawling underneath his armor; he wanted to move, fight, and resolve this conflict before they lost any more of the Third Brigade.

“Stop biting your lip,” Fives told him, jerking his chin in his direction, “You’re going to chew it right off.”

Just as he’d known that Echo was chewing his lip even with his helmet on, he also knew that his friend had given him a _mighty_ roll of his eyes when he’d glanced back at him.

 Fives realized that he would still put Echo before just about anyone; nothing had changed at all.  Their orders were still to protect the civilians, even those off-putting native Vratix with their insectoid faces, and lay down their lives to protect the manufacturing facilities.  Though he was a good soldier and he would follow the orders that he’d been given, there was a part of him that resented that almost everything in the universe was worth more than they were.  Sure, he could see that a vat of near-magical healing goo might be more valuable than he was.  But not Echo.  

He agitatedly drummed his gloved fingers on his white plastoid gauntlet until Echo told him shortly “Quit that,” then dropped his arms to his sides again.

Reinforcements came by nightfall, which meant that they were fighting in the dark.  There was something uncanny about fighting in infrared and just seeing the heat signatures of inorganic enemies mixed among the warm bodies of allies.  It made it easy to know who to shoot, whose face to bash in with the butt of a blaster when it jammed. A couple of lightsabers cut glowing swathes through the lines of droids, familiar green and blue even through their night visors.

Someone said later that Grievous had been there, but Fives would wait to hear that from an officer; there were always rumors shouted on the battlefield.

Within a few hours, the conflict had ended and the early dawn light was illuminating the brassy bodies of several thousand droids.  There were comparatively few white armored figures tangled among them, but it was enough to sting.  It hurt every time, and it happened almost every battle.  In a way the constancy of the ache was the only thing that made the loss bearable.  It was a rolling sort of grief, something that had become simply normal.

General Skywalker debriefed them on the steps of a factory that they had saved, where they had stopped the advancing Separatist droids.  Fives liked Skywalker; he was the most decent Jedi he’d met.  He seemed to care about the clones to some extent, or at least understand that they had identities behind their masks.  He’d heard that the young general had once been a slave, and he could only assume that his own servitude had given him insight into the curious position of being owned by someone else. That made him unique among their human masters.  He never denied that the clones were bred for war, but he likewise never limited them to it; Fives had heard that someone had heard Skywalker talking about _after the war_ , a reality that none of them could even imagine.

 Hell of a fighter too, which was something that any clone could appreciate.

 Skywalker had a unique turn of phrase that seemed to somehow simply sum up victory while acknowledging loss.  It was brief and real.  Around him, a mixed sea of white helmets and dirty faces nodded in shared understanding before Rex stepped up, a smear of blood on his face and his helmet tucked under his arm, to give them their next orders.

 Echo glanced over at Fives.  He was still wearing his helmet, but the tilt of his head was friendly, almost apologetic.  He subtly reached over and brushed his gloved knuckles against Fives.'

Fives smiled grimly behind the dirty white facade then mirrored the gesture, lightly knocking his hand guard against Echo’s.

No matter how tired they were or how ready they were to sleep, there were always things to be done.  Wounded to tend, bodies to retrieve, and straggling pieces of droids to finish off lest they become dangerous.  There was intelligence to gather, statistics to build, and damage to stabilize.

“What do they _do_ with the bodies?” Echo mused as they hefted the corpse of one of the 212th onto a motorized transport.  “Burn them, bury them?  Catalogue them and throw them down the trash compactor?”

Fives was surprised to hear his friend say aloud what he had often wondered.  He had been feeling a gradual shift in himself with every battle, a dawning awareness and a dark bitterness toward the purpose for which they had been created.  They were to the Republic what the droid army was to the Separatists; that seemed somewhat dark to him, that the Jedi had built humans with the same expendability as droids.  What sort of men were they fighting for?

He pushed the thought down, knowing that consideration served no purpose.  He loved his brothers and he would fight for them and care for them in any way that he could, but there was some training that went too deep to ever overcome.  Instead, he focused on the question itself, despite that it had likely been rhetorical.  They both knew that the blasters were refitted and the armor melted down, but no one knew much else.  

“I imagine everyone goes home to Kamino.”

By the time Echo and Fives were relieved from duty by a fresher line of soldiers, they had been awake for well over a full rotation and were ready to pass out.  They were relieved to know that none of their closest friends had been killed, but the sight of their fallen brothers still burned behind their eyelids when they blinked.  Blood showed so clearly on white armor and clashed with blue paint.

“Locals donated bacta - there are baths, dips, and bandages available to anyone who needs ‘em,” Kix called to them as they walked into the lobby of one of the hotels that were serving as temporary barracks for the troops.  He was busy patching up Ruckus from the 212th while his two overprotective brothers, Mischief and Rabble, watched critically.  Rabble was talking a blue streak, but Kix was only half listening.  He looked a little bit overwhelmed by the trio and by the day in general, but he kept a fairly cheerful tone as he queried, “You two need a once over or are you alright?”

“We’re good.  We got each other,” Fives replied, clapping Echo on the shoulder with a gloved hand.  He felt the plastic between them again, though he was relieved because it felt like the only barrier.

Echo leaned over to grab a generous handful of the individually wrapped bacta bandages from a repurposed fruit dish on the concierge’s counter.  They were the sort of thing that were good to have and only sparingly given to clones; the idea of clones being offered actual bacta soaks was practically unheard of.

Despite the losses on the battlefield, there was loud conversation and laughter in the hallways and rooms as their fellow soldiers rejoiced in the comfort of hotel beds and the availability of individual, private showers without highly rationed water.  Down the hall, Jesse exclaimed that this must be what it’s like to be in the banking clan, all this luxury _and_ holofilms available on demand in their rooms.  

Fives felt lighter at the sound of their voices, and at the strange affirmation that came from the locals’ gratitude.  He felt unusually proud as they chose their own small room, with its own temperature control, private bathroom, and individual, double-width beds.  It would have likely been a small thing to anyone else, but it made them feel like war heroes.

Echo groaned as he collapsed into one of the soft chairs.  He immediately popped back up, not wanting to get mud or blood on the upholstry, then crouched down to remove his boots.  He rapidly unclipped his shin guards and started working his way up his knees and thighs.

“You want to shower first, or can I?  I smell like the wrong end of a Tauntaun.”

Fives laughed, preferring to remove his armor from the top down.  “You can go first, just don’t take too long.  I’m asleep on my feet here.”

The other clone wrinkled his nose, “Then you go first - I want to take my time and enjoy that I’m not being timed.”

Fives rolled his eyes, then undid his belt and tossed it on the desk by the window. It was quickly followed by his gloves, gauntlets, and elbow guards.  Removing his armor was mindless; he had been doing it since he was only a few years old.  He could suit up and strip down in just a few minutes, even when he was exhausted and fumbling at the straps and clips as he was now.

“Hey, Echo…” he said, not looking at his friend as he spoke.  “Com’mere.” _Let's just be us for a quick minute._

The slimmer clone stood and walked over, wearing only a few random pieces of his armor over his black bodysuit.  

Fives reached over and took his hand and squeezed it lightly, lifting his eyes to his friend’s face uncertainly.  This close, Echo always gave him a curl of warmth in his chest.  Now, bare fingers laced together, he couldn’t help but smile sheepishly at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.

At the smile, the other clone released his hand and slipped his arms around his waist.  The impromptu hug was tight and genuine, and his stubbly cheek was pressed right up against Fives’ jaw.   They’d hugged before, usually in a celebratory _Kriff, yeah!_ sort of way, but they were never alone and there was always an impenetrable shell of armor clacking between them.  This was warm and yielding, and they could feel each other’s muscles and bone beneath their clothing.

“That was a rough one.  I’m glad you made it,” Fives said stupidly, stunned to be so close.  The words weren’t wasn’t really what he meant.  He had about a thousand things that he wanted to say, including some that no one had taught him the words for.  None of them, nor any of the thousand of possible conversations he’d mapped out in his mind, offered themselves for his use.

“Yeah.  You too.”

When Echo pulled back, slightly flushed and obviously self-conscious about his sudden display of affection, Fives closed the space between them again with a clumsy kiss that landed at the corner of his mouth.  As surprised as he was, his friend leaned into the contact and subtly turned his head to catch the kiss on the lips.  His hands, which had still been resting at Fives’ waist, pulled him closer as he pursued him for another kiss when he started to retreat.

“Stars above,” he breathed against Fives’ mouth, “What are we doing?”

“Probably ruining everything,” Fives admitted giddily, elated by this turn of events. “Definitely being unprofessional.”

“Smelling kriffing _foul_ while we’re at it.”

They both laughed, then Fives leaned forward to rest his forehead against his friend’s.  Nose to nose, they simply shared breath for a moment while their hearts pounded and adrenaline made their hands shake and their knees feel weak.  It was more intense than the shock of feeling a blaster bolt skim the side of a helmet.

“So, ah, this okay?  We okay?” Fives asked.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” Echo replied, eyes still closed.

“I’m okay.  Great, actually.  Really, really great.”

There was silence again for a moment, both men still reeling.  Then they were kissing again, rapidly moving to the closer of the two beds when Echo bore Fives down on his back and flattened him against the fine comforter.  It felt so good and so _normal_ that they were both laughing and joking as though this was old news rather than the absolute stunner than it was.

After a moment, during which Fives had upended their arrangement to neatly pin his friend against the mattress, Echo pushed him off and laughed, “You’re disgusting, go wash.”

Grumbling good-naturedly, Fives kissed his jaw, then right below his eye, before climbing off of him and retreating to the bathroom.

The shower was miraculous; the water pressure was perfect and the miniaturized bottles of shampoo and conditioner were so absurd that they made Fives laugh outright.   _Is this what normal people do?_ he wondered as he washed his hair, then conditioned it just because he could.  He even conditioned his short beard because he never had before.

By the time he stepped out, he thought he smelled rather fantastic.

He grinned at Echo and told him that it was his turn, then promptly dozed off on a bed that almost seemed too soft.  

He woke to the dip of the mattress, the steady pressure of someone climbing into bed with him. He was drowsily ecstatic that his friend was choosing to sleep beside him, though he was so tired that he could barely open his eyes to see him. Echo had stripped down to his unders, which left almost all of his tan skin bared. He roused himself enough to shift to make room for him to curl up against his side.  The other clone draped his bare arm across his chest and nestled his damp head into the hollow of his shoulder.

Fives wanted more than anything to kiss him more, especially since they were both so close to naked, but he was so exhausted that all he managed to do was pull him protectively close and turn his head to rest his lips against his companion’s forehead.  He still didn’t have words for what he felt about him or what he wanted from him, but this felt like a step in the right direction.  Echo was warm and heavy in his arms, and this moment was the best thing that had happened in his short, force-kriffed life.  In the morning he could wake him with kisses, if he wanted.  He was that close.

They were together, safe.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Rabble, Ruckus, and mischief belong to kristune. :)


End file.
